


bitter is sorrow

by theedas



Series: comment sauver une vie [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theedas/pseuds/theedas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your brother is dead,” the woman said.<br/>“You saved us,” Hawke replied. “There must be a way to save him too.”</p><p>---<br/>A DA timeloop fic that goes horribly, horribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one for sorrow

_"Bitter is sorrow,_  
_Ate raw and often, poison that weakens and does not kill"_

_-Andraste 1:1-1:12._

 

 

"Quickly," Aveline said. "Before they regroup, we must press towards the Wi-" She stopped mid-word as the ground began to shake.

Hawke tensed, drawing his sword once more. Was there no end to the darkspawn even now?

A creature from his nightmares burst into the clearing. Hawke dove to the side as its head swung to face them and it charged. A litany of swears ran through his mind when he realized that he had dropped his sword.

The ogre was massive, easily twelve feet tall, and better armoured than any of them. At Ostagar, he'd seen one take down ten men before it was killed. They would need to focus fighting cautiously and wearing it down.

The ogre snarled and turned towards Carver, who was guarding their mother.

 _‘No,’_ Hawke thought, stomach lurching.

Carver looked back at Leandra. “You soulless bastards,” he said. His sword, when it fell, clashed against the ogre’s vambrace. The ogre grunted then one arm swung-

Hawke’s little brother cried out three times before he died.

* * *

 

The battle that followed was a blur.

At some point, more darkspawn had rushed in. The weaker ones could be killed with a few blows but they were distractions from the real threat: the ogre, when it charged, could knock down even Aveline. Aveline, who had at one point rammed five genlocks against the rock face with her shield and cut their heads off with the other hand, took every blow and gave two back in return but even she flagged.

Ser Wesley was obviously ill, though Hawke wasn’t sure what from, Hawke was still recovering from the injuries he had received at Ostagar, and Bethany had never seen real conflict. 

Between the four of them (and Hawke’s mabari) however, they managed to defeat every one of the darkspawn that attacked.

In the end, Hawke stood above the corpse of his brother’s murderer, covered in its blood. _Vengeance tastes sweet_ ¸ one of the older soldiers in his squad had said, but as his mother wept and cradled Carver’s broken body, the only thing he tasted was the metallic tang of his blood.

Hawke tried to comfort his mother but the platitudes fell heavy from his tongue and on deaf ears.

“I don’t want a hero,” Leandra said. “I want my son.”

Something inside Hawke twisted.

* * *

 

The next group of darkspawn was an almost welcome reprieve but they just kept coming and coming and for every one he cut down, three took its place.

At some point, he heard Bethany scream and when he glanced back to look for her, one of the hurlocks managed to slash across his chest. He swore and scythed through the cluster of darkspawn between him and his little sister. She was bleeding a little bit but seemed to be okay and said as much between aiming fireballs and blasts of frigid air.

Hawke had fought beside mages before though, and knew how quickly their mana could be depleted. He jerked his head towards their mother, who was still kneeling over Carver, and told Bethany that they needed to make sure she was safe.

Another wave of darkspawn rushed in as he covered her retreat back towards the relative safety near the entrance to the clearing.

His grip on his sword slackened momentarily as he felt a surge of _something_ run through him and a bright light flashed in front of his eyes. Blinking away the dark blotches, he quickly raised his sword to meet the darkspawn taking advantage of his disorientation. “A warning would have been nice,” he called across the clearing.

“My apologies,” Wesley huffed in reply.

Hawke took advantage of the lull the Templar’s Smite had left in combat to scan the area.

Aveline and her husband were both surrounded, and he wouldn’t be able to help either without leaving Bethany and Leandra unguarded. To make matters worse, another group was entering the clearing, at least thirty strong.

“There’s no end to them,” Bethany panted, leaning heavily on her staff.

 That was when the dragon arrived: it launched itself from its perch on the ridge of the mountain, the muscles under its scales rippling as it breathed fire

“Down!” Aveline shouted.

Hawke dropped to the ground, a wave of heat washing over him, then stood warily as the dragon circled back around before landing. It screeched and pale fire spilled from its gaping jaws. The tail snapped around and smashed into a cluster of hurlocks.

Within seconds, all of the darkspawn had been decimated.

A flash of golden light enveloped the dragon and it disappeared. A woman strode out from amongst the flames, trailing the body of a darkspawn behind her. “Well, well,” she said. “What have we here?”

* * *

“-you are safe, for the moment,” she said. “Is that not enough?”

“You could show me that trick of yours,” Hawke said. “That looks useful.”

But that wasn’t what he really wanted. No, what he wanted was-

The old woman laughed.

“If only a clever tongue was all one needed. Tell me, clever child,” she breathed, moving closer. “How do you intend to outrun the Blight?”

Bethany began to speak but Hawke raised his head. “I don’t,” he said. “Not without my brother.”

Bethany clutched his arm. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Your brother is dead,” the woman said.

 “You saved us,” Hawke replied. “There must be a way to save him too.”

Flemeth-there was no one else it could be-tilted her head, watching him closely. “And if there was?”

Bethany’s grip was almost painfully tight. Behind him, his mother stirred.

“Hawke,” Aveline said quietly. “Don’t do this.”

Hawke looked the shapeshifter in the eyes.

“I would do anything.”


	2. two for joy

“Lead on,” Carver said.

Hawke paused for a second but then nodded, licking his lips. “Be ready,” he said, turning and continuing down the path.

They made quick work of the darkspawn, which seemed to be much weaker than the ones that had attacked Ostagar then continued before coming to a divergence in the path.

“Wait.” Bethany slowed to a halt. “Where are we going?”

* * *

 

 _Something’s wrong with Hawke,_ Carver thought. His brother had been strangely quiet throughout their discussion. Aside from a warning to Wesley to keep away from Bethany (a sentiment that Carver agreed with completely but would have rather said himself) and the declaration that they would go south into the Wilds, the other warrior was uncharacteristically taciturn. Instead, he had kept a hand on the hilt of his sword and stood guard, offering little input.

Through it all, he never once looked at Carver.

* * *

 

Hawke’s vigilance seemed to pay off; he was able to spot most of the groups of darkspawn before the creatures realized that they were there. They dispatched the majority of them easily, but Hawke remained on edge. Carver kept a close eye on his brother, who grew more and more withdrawn the further they travelled from their home. Eventually, after Carver-didn’t-know-how-many skirmishes, they saw the opening in the path that would lead them to the last clearing before the Wilds.

Carver heaved a sigh of relief and quickened his pace but Hawke flung out an arm. “Wait,” he said.

 “More darkspawn?” Aveline asked, drawing her sword and glancing around warily.

“No,” Hawke replied. For the first time in years, his usually confident brother looked almost scared. It passed quickly though, fast enough that Carver doubted he’d even seen it. “Just be careful.”

They approached the clearing cautiously and Carver realized that the open area that had seemed so peaceful when they were children was completely void of any of the signs of fighting.

His eyes narrowed: everything about the idyllic scene screamed ‘trap’. With none of the breaks in the path that they had come across on their way before, the area was virtually indefensible. It was a TK straight out of training, one of the battlefield simulations that they had been warned to avoid.

And they had no way to go around it.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he gripped his sword tighter and stepped forward.

* * *

 

The ogre was bigger than the ones at Ostagar, he thought distantly, diving sideways to get out of the way as it barreled past.

Carver got up slowly, groaning when he realized that he must have twisted his ankle at some point.

Hawke was still on his knees but at the sound, he whipped around to face him, something desperate in his expression.  “Carver?” he asked, voice shaking.

Carver frowned. “Hawke?”

“You’re okay.” Hawke slumped, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Thank the Maker,” he breathed. “You’re okay.”


	3. three for a girl

“Of course I’m okay,” Carver scowled. You’d think that after the time they’d served together, Hawke would trust him to take care of himself.

“Maker, give me strength,” Bethany said.

She was standing in front of their mother, staff raised defiantly. The ogre lumbered towards them slowly. With every step, the ground shook.

“Please,” Hawke said, in a voice Carver had never heard before. “No.”

Carver jumped to his feet and sprinted towards his sister. _Maker,_ he thought, _don’t take her too. Not her._

Bethany slammed the staff down and the familiar bright light of a fireball collided with the bulk of the darkspawn.

It wasn’t enough.

The ogre grunted, but otherwise seemed unbothered by the effects of the fireball. One arm stretched out-

Bethany screamed-

And then it was done.

The body of his twin sister slammed against the ground, blood seeping through the front of her clothes.

“Bethany!” his mother screamed, running towards – towards the body.

 _When someone dies,_ their father had said once, _they go to the Maker’s side. The body is just a body; it is not the person you knew._

And yet he couldn’t see anything other his little sister, broken and bloody and dead.

“You’ll pay for that,” Hawke swore, voice rough.

Carver tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword and went to help his brother.

* * *

 

When it was done, the monster that took his sister away from him fell beneath _his_ sword, not Hawke’s. He swung and swung and swung and-

“Carver,” Aveline said, “it’s dead.”

Her steady voice sparked another flash of anger and he yanked his blade out of the ogre’s stomach before driving it in again.

Hawke, who had been watching silently, finally spoke. “That’s enough, Carver.”

Carver whirled around to face him. “It’s _not_!” he snapped. “This thing killed Bethany! It-“

“Bethany,” Leandra said, voice pleading. “Wake up. The battle’s over-we’re fine!”

Carver fell silent.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Aveline murmured. “Your daughter is gone.”

“No!” his mother sobbed, tears dripping down her cheeks as she finally raised her head. “These things will not take Bethany.”

Hawke, when Carver looked to him, did not say a word.

“How could you let her charge off like that?” Leandra snapped, glaring up at them. The anger drained from her quickly and she folded in on herself. “Oh my poor little girl,” she wailed. “My sweetheart.”

“If we stand here weeping,” Carver said, around the tightness in his throat, “the darkspawn will take the rest of us too.”

The Templar made a quick prayer and Leandra finally let go of Bethany’s body.

“I will never forget you, Bethany,” she vowed.

And then the Darkspawn were upon them.

* * *

When the old woman appeared, Carver wasn’t quite sure how to react. A dragon, he could deal with, but she - Flemeth - carried herself with power. She didn’t even carry a staff, which their father had told them was an indication of someone's power. But Hawke seemed to know her and she seemed to recognize him.

"Well, child," she said, a smile curling across her weathered face. "You have your brother."

"You know that's not what I meant," Hawke replied, anger colouring his words. "You  _know_ this isn't what I wanted."

Carver curled his hand around the hilt of his sword. He didn't know what good it would do against a mage that could turn into a dragon, one that claimed to be  _the Flemeth_ from the stories the Chasind in Lothering had told, but he'd already lost one sibling today.

Flemeth glanced over to him, and her smile widened slightly.

"Make do, clever child," she laughed. "Or make it better."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been a year, huh? *laughs self-consciously, looking to the side*


	4. four for a boy

When Hawke was five years old, his father had taught him how to hold a baby properly. Quietly and gently, Malcolm had shown him how to support the head with one hand and cradle the body in the crook of his other arm. Hawke had pressed his baby brother against his shoulder, a warm weight against his skin, and breathed in the ever-present clean milk-smell that hovered around the twins. As Carver gurgled quietly and left a trail of drool down the back of his shirt, Hawke had sworn to himself that he would never let anything happen to his siblings.

 

_Carver’s sword falls from his grasp as the ogre clasps a thick hand around his waist and squeezes. As the blade clatters against the ground, a choked gasp leaves his little brother’s lips. Dark eyes widen and he falls, limp and unseeing._

When Hawke was ten years old, his mother had taught him how to braid hair. Patiently and carefully, Leandra had shown him how to twist the strands so that they formed a thick plait that wrapped around the front of Bethany’s head like a crown. His sister had squirmed throughout the entire lesson, legs kicking against the bed while Hawke knelt on the lumpy mattress and painstakingly tried and tried again.

When they were finished, Bethany had dropped a kiss on his cheek then darted away. She reappeared not even an hour later, covered in mud, with a grinning Carver in tow. Her hair was mussed and had fallen out of the braid but her smile had been as bright as the sun.

 

_The ogre smashes Bethany against the ground, once, twice, then flings her to the side. She lands with a sickening crunch, arms and legs at odd angles with each other. Her beautiful dark hair becomes matted as the blood pools on the ground beneath her corpse._

When Hawke was twenty years old, he had taught himself how to take care of three broken people. In the aftermath of his father’s death, Hawke had been the one to support the shattered remains of his family. He had shoved his grief away and forced himself to be strong. In the nights when his mother cried quietly in her room and the twins huddled together next to the fire, Hawke sat under the moonlight and kept a vigilant watch for danger. In the mornings, he would slip out of their home and venture out into the neighbouring villages to find whatever work he could. Try as he might, he couldn’t prevent his family from fraying apart.

 

_Leandra bends over the battered and broken body of one of his siblings, tears running down her face. In this position, there is almost no difference as to when they had discovered Malcolm’s body, still and cold. She accuses him of allowing this to happen and Hawke can only swallow down his guilt. He has to fix this. He has to try again._

 

And so, he does.


End file.
